Massage (repost)

~Opening Remarks~

I'm from northern China, born in the mid-80s. I'm not particularly tall, and my frame isn't large either. Some people say I'm petite, but I just laugh—I admit I'm petite, but with my looks, I would never dare to call myself petite. Fortunately, as a qualified artsy young woman, I have a bit of elegance, plus fair skin, which should cover up some of my flaws, right? Besides, I often play badminton and table tennis, so I have a well-proportioned figure. My most confident parts are my buttocks and legs; proportionally, they're quite shapely and long.

Getting back to the point, about six years ago, I fell in love with massage, and even became addicted. Every two weeks, I go to a familiar masseur for two hours to relieve physical and mental fatigue. Now I have two regular masseuses, a man and a woman. I usually have the man massage my feet and the woman massage my body. But every time I make an appointment, I can't help but think of Uncle Xiong. If Uncle Xiong were still here, I would really miss his thick, warm hands and his strong, weathered face.

Uncle Xiong is a fantastic massage therapist; for a long time, I only went to him for massages.

We first met in the summer of 2014. One Saturday, I received a call from the massage parlor owner. She said that Aunt Dong, whom I always booked, had to cancel due to family matters and asked if I could try someone else. Because I was really tired, I immediately agreed, thinking that since I'd been a regular at this shop for so long and it was always packed with customers, the other massage therapists must be quite skilled. But when I got to the shop, I was stunned—the person the owner recommended to replace Aunt Dong was a large, imposing man. He was tall, around forty years old, with a large face, large hands, large feet, and a slightly protruding belly, but not greasy. He had thick eyebrows, big eyes, and a broad back. He stood there, smiling憨憨地 at me. I had occasionally glimpsed him giving foot massages to customers before, but I never imagined I would have any interaction with him.

The owner knew I usually only booked female massage therapists, so she noticed my hesitation and quickly added, "This is Master Xiong, his technique is excellent. He knows you like a strong touch, so having him is sure to be a good choice."

"Oh," I replied cautiously, neither agreeing nor refusing.

"Why don't you wait a bit? My wife's almost done, she can do it for you too," Master Xiong added, afraid I'd feel awkward—yes, he said "wife," and his voice carried a strong Northeastern accent. I remembered that vividly.

"It's alright, I'll trouble you again later, Master Xiong!" Of course, I wouldn't be ungrateful; some non-essential issues don't need insistence. I used to only book female massage therapists simply because I was secretly a bit shy and embarrassed to ask for a male one. So this time, I was a little excited, firstly because I'd long wanted to try a male massage therapist's technique, and secondly because I'm attracted to older men, especially tall, chubby, and strong ones—they completely overwhelm me.

Master Xiong gave a concise but firm "hmm" and led me to room number 2, which I usually used. Room number 2 was the innermost room, tucked away in a corner; it wasn't big, but it was private enough. When Aunt Dong was here, I would always strip naked for her oil massage. Although city regulations required a small window in the door, no one would pass through this room, so I was happy to be comfortable.

"Then get ready, I'll come in later," Master Xiong said considerately, avoiding any awkwardness by telling me to get ready instead of taking off my clothes. Being a bit of a repressed person, I wasn't about to strip naked the moment we met, so I lay on the bed in my underwear and hastily covered myself with the sheet. About five minutes later, Master Xiong politely knocked on the door and entered the room. He first tucked me back in and then asked where he wanted me to focus.

"Hmm, my back and waist, they're sore," I whispered. "Give me a good rub on my butt!" I couldn't bring myself to say that.

"Okay."

He gently pulled the sheet down to my waist, and then I heard him rubbing his hands together. Immediately, a pair of large, warm hands covered my back.

"So comfortable!" was my only thought at that moment.

Master Xiong's technique was quite skilled; he could always find my sore spots instantly, then press down firmly with his thumb, a tingling, numb sensation that felt incredibly satisfying.

"Is this pressure okay?"

"Mmm."

"Your back is very sore." He then used his large thumb to gently massage the two erector spinae muscles along my spine. "

Mmm." I could only manage a soft "Mmm" in comfort.

Master Xiong was a genuine man; he continued to massage me vigorously with his thumb for ten minutes without stopping. I knew this was tiring and put a lot of pressure on my thumb, which could injure it in the long run.

"Um, Master Xiong, please don't keep pressing with your thumb; it's too tiring and will hurt you."

"It's alright, this is what I do; as long as you're comfortable, that's all that matters."

It was indeed comfortable, but after my repeated insistence, he switched to using his elbow instead of his thumb for the massage. The moment his hairy elbow touched my body, I immediately shuddered, feeling like I'd been brushed with a small brush, and involuntarily let out a soft moan.

"Did I hurt you?"

"It's alright, I can handle it," I said, blushing.

"Then I'll be gentler, tell me if it hurts."

Half an hour passed like this, neither too hot nor too cold. I felt lucky to have met a massage therapist like Master Xiong; if only it were also good luck in love—I let my mind wander.

"Would you like an oil massage?" Master Xiong asked tentatively.

The main event was finally here. Anyone who enjoys massage knows that if dry pressure relaxes muscles, then an oil massage is pure enjoyment.

"Yes!" This time I didn't say "uh-huh," not wanting him to think I was being too coy, and also afraid he was just asking casually.

"Then should you take off your underwear—the owner said you always take it off when you come for an oil massage, and she specifically told me, don't worry." He quickly added, afraid I'd feel embarrassed or misunderstand. And Master Xiong didn't say "underwear" but "breasts," which made me feel he was really considerate.

"Hmm." A brief silence followed. "Then could you please help me take it off?" I mustered my courage but asked in a voice barely above a whisper, my face as red as the morning sun.

But all I heard was the sound of him closing the door and leaving. I wondered if he had heard my last sentence. I breathed a sigh of relief, tinged with disappointment. I hoped he hadn't heard me.

About two minutes later, Mr. Xiong knocked on the door again and came in. This time he didn't speak, but simply folded the sheet, covering only my bottom, and then skillfully applied oil to my skin.

I vaguely remember his breathing becoming heavier. I wondered if his thick eyebrows and large eyes were reflecting my oily body under the dim light. I wondered if he had seen my private parts too—how embarrassing! However, shame couldn't stop me from enjoying the pleasure of Mr. Xiong's hot, large hands caressing me. I occasionally let out a soft moan in response to his kneading, and he tried even harder to make me feel comfortable.

Suddenly, he gently patted my bottom and asked somewhat uneasily, "Should we do something here too?"

"Yes, thank you," I said shyly.

"Okay." He slowly lifted the sheet covering my round bottom. I'm willing to believe that at that moment, he was burning with desire.

His large hands gently covered my slightly upturned buttocks, not rushing to knead them, but just holding them there for about five seconds, before slowly pushing them towards my waist. It felt so good! I love this kind of ambiguous and slightly erotic massage. Although I knew nothing would actually happen, my wild imagination was already running wild, and I was already wet down there. Actually, Master Xiong's technique was similar to Aunt Dong's, probably the result of intensive training by the boss. But it was precisely this very routine technique that made me feel comfortable in every pore. I occasionally wiggled my buttocks, letting out a soft moan. Master Xiong understood and moved his hands back to my buttocks, kneading them vigorously. I could imagine my buttocks being squeezed into different shapes by his large hands, but he very carefully avoided my sensitive areas, not even touching my inner thighs.

At the end, he carefully wiped the essential oil off my body with a hot towel. Although the towel was also hot, I felt it was the warmth of Master Xiong's large hands that completely melted away my reserve and pride. When it was time to

pay, the boss naturally asked how it felt, and I smiled and nodded. There weren't many words exchanged, but I left the same tip as I gave Aunt Dong.

That night, I dreamt of Master Xiong. Beside him stood his wife and a little girl about my size. I couldn't see her face clearly, but I distinctly heard her call Master Xiong "Dad."

A week later, I tried calling back to book a massage. The owner, quite perceptively, asked if I wanted to see Master Xiong again. I pretended to hesitate for a moment, then agreed.

Full

of anticipation and trepidation, I arrived on time for the appointment.

"You're here," the owner greeted me with that same sincere smile, one that made it impossible to doubt he was only after the money.

Master Xiong, with his same憨憨 (simple and honest) expression, nodded at me, gestured for me to come in, and led me to room number 2.

Walking down the narrow corridor, I gazed at Master Xiong's back. He must have been twice my width, looking very solid and imposing. His back was slightly hunched, which fascinated me. I wondered, what kind of sorrow could a man's slightly hunched back bear? Yet he continued walking with unwavering determination and steadfastness, heading towards a future that, though not clearly visible, shone with a glimmer of hope. I longed to lean on his back and hear his strong, powerful heartbeat.

Master Xiong opened the door and stepped aside to let me into the room. As I entered, I gave Master Xiong a thank-you look, then lowered my head demurely, my eyes quickly darting to his broad chest. Unlike most middle-aged, overweight men, it wasn't sagging; it was very firm, with a few unruly chest hairs peeking out from his V-neck work clothes, teasing my senses. I secretly sniffed; there was no sweat odor, no body odor, no shampoo or shower gel fragrance, but a reassuring yet dreamlike scent—this, I thought, was probably the smell of a man.

"Then get ready," Master Xiong said succinctly, closing the door behind him.

I quickly stripped naked and lay on the bed, my heart pounding with increasing nervousness. I longed for his hot, large hands to cover my body, to roam slowly but powerfully, and I also longed for closer physical contact with him, or rather, for his body to touch me more intimately. Based on these fantasies, a warm current rose in my lower abdomen.

Finally, Mr. Xiong knocked on the door and came in.

I felt him hesitate for a moment, then realized that I had been so engrossed in my daydreams that I had forgotten to cover myself with the sheet.

Mr. Xiong, quick-witted and agile, pulled the sheet over me, chuckled, and then asked what I had focused on today.

"My legs, oh, and my waist," I quickly replied, trying to cover my embarrassment. "I went to play ball this afternoon, my legs are a little sore."

"Okay."

Actually, I hadn't played ball at all that afternoon; I had just stayed in bed reading, listening to music, and fantasizing about intimate contact with Mr. Xiong. I said this because I'm a habitual liar—a white lie. I wouldn't fabricate unrealistic lies to hurt others. More often, my lies tend to offer an explanation or reason. The reason is simple: I don't want others to think I'm unreasonable.

The massage remained gentle and even, and being covered by Master Xiong's warm, large hands made me feel like crying. It was so comfortable, especially when he slowly massaged from my calves to my thighs, then used his fingers to support my buttocks and push down to my lower back, repeating the cycle—it felt incredibly moving.

During the massage, I occasionally felt a few drops of sweat fall, penetrating me.

This second massage still didn't bring the eroticism I had hoped for, but both satisfaction and disappointment went straight to my heart. I couldn't help but daydream about whether one day it would reach me.

~Turn~

After the second time, there will be a third, a fifth, a tenth.

Gradually, Master Xiong and I became familiar with each other. Although he wasn't very talkative, I learned that he was Mongolian, but grew up in Northeast China. He told me to call him Uncle Xiong. My aunt, his wife, came from a wealthy family that had fallen on hard times. They came to America with their meager savings, hoping their precious son would succeed. Their son attends a public university, lives on campus, and only comes home occasionally. Uncle Xiong's eyes are always full of hope when he talks about his son. The couple works at the massage parlor for their son's sake; it's tiring, but I know they're content.

Uncle Xiong also said that if he had a daughter, she'd probably be about my age, so he started calling me "daughter." However, he never asked my age. Although I look young, I know Uncle Xiong and my aunt will never have a daughter born in the 1980s. Whenever he calls me "daughter," I feel a strange, guilty pleasure, but at the same time, I don't want him to see me as just a woman who can only be a daughter.

Before, when Aunt Dong was alive, I went to the massage parlor every two weeks; after meeting Uncle Xiong, I started going once a week. Getting massages can be addictive, especially when you encounter a skilled and experienced masseur. The owner, of course, is always happy to oblige—money is always welcome! But two or three masseuses look at me differently. They know I usually get longer sessions and give bigger tips, and there's a hint of jealousy in their eyes. They seem to be saying, "Oh, that little vixen is trying to seduce Old Xiong again. Looks like she won't give up until she gets him!" I, on the other hand, nod and give a friendly smile, as if to say, "Yeah! I've got him!"

Then, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I received a call from the massage parlor owner. Her voice sounded a little flustered. She explained that there was a problem with Uncle Xiong's appointment, so my evening appointment had to be rescheduled for after 9 PM. However, she assured me that although the shop closes at 9:30 PM, I could still get a full two-hour session as usual. Uncle Xiong was fine, since he was usually the one closing up shop.

I've worn a watch that tells me everything for over twenty years, so of course I had to pretend to hesitate for a moment. But anyway, I don't have to work tomorrow, so it does n't matter what time it is to me—as long as that person is Uncle

Xiong. Hanging up the phone, for the first time, I truly felt that something was going to happen tonight, and I felt a little excited. Following online instructions, I shaved my already thin body hair clean, then filled a tub with bathwater, slowly lay down, and relaxed, calmed down. Enveloped in the warm water, I let my imagination run wild, a familiar kind of daydreaming. I had a strong thought at that moment: if I were also enveloping Uncle Xiong, would he feel this same warm softness?

I arrived at the massage parlor at 8:30 PM, but just sat quietly in the car, watching the customers come out one after another, their faces beaming with satisfaction. Finally, at 9 PM, I calmly walked into the shop. The proprietress was still all smiles, apologizing repeatedly. I tactfully paid first so she could settle her bill and leave. After paying, I turned around and found Uncle Xiong already standing behind me. He scratched his head, looking apologetic, and said, "Someone insisted on hiring me today, so I squeezed in an hour. Sorry for taking up your time." Seeing that I didn't answer but just smiled at him, he seemed a little embarrassed. "Girl, wait a minute, the customer just left. I'll go tidy up the bed." He then turned and walked inside. I didn't comment, but followed him inside.

"Uncle Xiong, I'll go say hello to Auntie first, then wait for you in room number 2," I whispered, emphasizing "wait for you." I don't know if he heard me.

"Okay," he replied.

I went straight to the staff break room and saw my aunt packing her things. She's a hardworking and family-oriented woman. Although time has taken its toll, you can tell she's well-off; she must have had a privileged childhood. I have immense respect for women like her. Despite her family's decline, she possesses a refined air cultivated since childhood. Coupled with her kindness and unwavering dedication, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say she embodies the traditional virtues of the Chinese nation. Every time I see her, the saying "To become a great Buddha, one must first serve the people like a beast of burden" comes to mind. At the same time, I genuinely believe that Uncle Xiong and my aunt are a perfect match, the kind of couple who can share both joy and sorrow. And I have absolutely no intention of interfering in their lives, so I've never asked for Uncle Xiong's contact information or address, and he's tacitly agreed not to ask for my phone number. He only knows that I live a ten-minute drive from their shop. If my fantasy were to become reality—I mean, if anything were to happen between us—it could only happen in this shop.

"You're here."

"Yes, hello Auntie."

"Have your uncle give you a good massage later, no rush, I'll have the manager take me home first." They all habitually call the boss "manager.

" "Oh." I initially thought Auntie would stay to wait for Uncle Xiong, but now it seems like heaven is on my side. "Then I'll go over first." After saying hello, I eagerly headed towards room number 2.

It was still that familiar room number 2, the familiar dim lighting and the scent of essential oils, but now, it subtly teased me. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed with an almost worshipful feeling. I felt that my body was the best offering at this moment, a sacrifice to my ethereal fantasies. I deliberately didn't cover myself with the sheet, just lay there on the bed with my hands flat at my sides.

These were the second longest five minutes of my life.

Uncle Xiong finally came in.

He tacitly didn't cover me with the sheet. He had long since stopped asking me where the focus should be; I think he knew that wherever he touched was the focus.

He first rubbed his hands together to warm them, then gently placed them on my back. Though it was only for a moment, I distinctly felt his large, hot hands tremble slightly. I let out a soft moan in response to his warmth. Today, he only gave me a dry massage for about fifteen minutes before starting the oil massage. The oil was heated, and it felt incredibly comfortable and ticklish on my back. He gently spread the oil evenly on my back, slowly applying it all over my body—these actions, which I take for granted, felt exceptionally pleasant today. I usually think that applying oil is to make the client more comfortable, especially during a vigorous massage, to prevent chafing. But today, I felt that Uncle Xiong was treating me more like a work of art, slowly applying and caring for me. This time, he even applied a thin layer to my inner thighs, areas he usually wouldn't touch. By the time he finished, I was completely soaked.

"Old Xiong, I'll take your wife home first. Everyone else has left. I'll lock the front door for you; you can use the back door later." The boss's voice came from outside the door at an inopportune moment. It wasn't loud, but I heard it clearly.

"Okay." Uncle Xiong's answer was always so simple and straightforward, but his large hands didn't stop; instead, they rubbed even harder. Then, his hands slowly moved to my feet, and I knew he was going to start massaging the soles. Usually, when he massaged my feet, I would relax until I fell asleep, but this time, I was wide awake. I didn't want to miss any of his comfort. After about ten minutes of massage, which was about the time I would usually fall asleep, Uncle Xiong finally made his move. He first slowly spread my legs a little wider, then pulled my right foot with one hand and slowly lifted my calf with the other. Then he knelt on the bed, bending my calf at a ninety-degree angle and placing it against his stomach, my toes just touching his chest. I could feel his strong, powerful heartbeat against his firm chest. I continued to pretend to be asleep, anticipating his next move. His breathing became noticeably heavier, but his hands didn't stop, still pressing the acupoints on my calf. I imagined he was now in a half-kneeling position, holding my calf in his arms. Suddenly, I felt him gently kiss the sole of my foot, then take my toes into his mouth, gently sucking on them, occasionally brushing his tongue between them. I tried hard not to moan. Then I felt him shift slightly, then pull my other leg into his arms, beginning to kiss and lick my feet in a crisscross motion. At the same time, I felt something warm and hard pressing against the space between my knees. I couldn't hold back any longer and let out a soft moan.

"Comfortable?" he asked. So he knew I was pretending to be asleep all along.

"Mmm." But I think my voice was so soft that only I could hear it.

"Yes, I know what you're thinking." He sighed, speaking slowly, as if he had made a great decision.

After a brief silence, I heard Uncle Xiong get out of bed, but I didn't know what he would do next. I nervously squeezed my legs together, secretly turning my head, and I was shocked to see him standing not far from me, holding essential oil in his hand. At this moment, Uncle Xiong's face lost its憨憨 (simple and honest) expression, replaced by a serious and solemn look, like a robust Vajra Bodhisattva. His pants were already bulging high with male pride, quite a sight. *Smack!* He slapped my buttocks, the sound crisp, accompanied by a slight tremor in my buttocks. He straddled me, but didn't press down.

"Can you squeeze me a little? I won't go in." He looked down at me, speaking in a negotiating tone but with a commanding air.

I didn't answer, but slowly raised my buttocks. Seeing my acquiescence, he moved forward, picked up a sheet from the side, rolled it up, and placed it under my lower abdomen. Then I heard him pull down his pants. I really wanted to see what his burning pride looked like, but I was too embarrassed to turn my head away, too embarrassed to let him see my current expression. I just raised my buttocks, trying to feel his heat as much as possible.

“Uncle knows you want it, but you’re not ready yet. Don’t worry, Uncle won’t go in, but I’ll make you feel comfortable.”

My mind went blank, yet I clearly remembered hearing countless people talk about men’s lies about “I won’t go in.” But I was willing to believe that if he said he wouldn’t go in, he definitely wouldn’t. And I preferred to let nature take its course, to go with the flow.

Uncle Xiong poured every last drop of the still-warm essential oil onto my buttocks, threw away the bottle, and let the oil run rampant across my lower body, watching it flow in all directions. I felt the warm liquid flowing into my anus and the base of my thighs, and unconsciously twisted my buttocks, my waist tensing tightly. Another slap, and his bear paw landed on me, hot and very comfortable, and I couldn’t help but groan.

“Relax,” he commanded, then his large hands began to knead wantonly. His thumbs occasionally brushed against my anus and the base of my thighs, making me tremble with pleasure. Then, he parted my hands, letting my buttocks clamp onto his burning, proud member. Although I had never touched a red-hot iron rod before, I believed that at this moment, there was a thick, red-hot iron rod being held between my buttocks, thrusting back and forth. Listening to his increasingly heavy breathing, I felt an unprecedented satisfaction. After rubbing like this for more than ten minutes, Uncle Xiong leaned forward, supporting himself on the bed with his fists, and then inserted his iron rod into the gap between my tightly clenched thighs. The iron rod was held by my lips, continuing to rub slowly and hotly. As a literary young woman who loves to fantasize, I once specifically studied what the Japanese call “solid thighs,” which is said to be a very profound technique that I have no chance to learn. But today, I believe that what Uncle Xiong is letting me experience is “solid thighs.” Thinking of this, I couldn't help but squeeze my thighs together, hoping for a deeper experience for both of us. I took the opportunity to grab Uncle Xiong's thick forearm, stroking the hair on his arm, and involuntarily moaning. Hearing my moans, Uncle Xiong seemed encouraged, rubbing faster and faster. Suddenly, I felt a tingling sensation on my scalp, followed by a glistening spray of water that splashed onto the iron rod, but couldn't extinguish the raging fire.

"Feeling better now?" Uncle Xiong breathed a sigh of relief, slowly stopping his movements and straightening up.

"Yes, feeling better." I didn't continue to be coy. "Uncle, what about you?" Uncle Xiong really didn't come in or out, and I felt inexplicably sorry for him.

"Hehe, it's good that you're comfortable. I still have your aunt to take care of later." He answered cheerfully. "You should lie down and rest for a bit, don't get up all at once." After saying that, a large hand supported my waist, pulling out the sheet so I could lie more comfortably.

Actually, I really wanted to get up right away and see what kind of treasure had made me feel so comfortable. But he had already pulled up his pants and started cleaning up the mess.

After letting me rest for more than ten minutes, Uncle Xiong signaled that I could get up. I got dressed, took the glass of warm water he handed me, and drank it down in one gulp.

"Wait for me for five minutes, I'll tidy up the bed."

"Okay." I stared at this rather trustworthy man, my eyes filled with seductive allure.

~Hmm~

I don't remember how I said goodbye to Uncle Xiong, nor do I remember the specific process of driving home. All I could think about was Uncle Xiong's strong body, his muscular arms, and the rolling pride that I had once clung to.

When I held his arm, a sense of security filled my heart. I felt that even if the sky fell, he would shield me with his broad and solid back. And the thick hair that stretched from his belly all the way down seemed to have a powerful suction, trying to pull my plump buttocks into his body, and once we closed our arms, we couldn't be separated.

But, Uncle Xiong still has his aunt when he goes home, so what about me? Besides endless emptiness and loneliness, all that remained was his scent on my body. I didn't shower; as soon as I got home, I stripped naked, jumped into bed, and pulled a pillow between my legs, trying to recapture the lingering, intoxicating feeling I'd just experienced. In the end, I wasn't sure if his scent was truly lingering around me, or if it was just my pathetic imagination, and I was mercilessly pulled into the vortex of sleep.

I slept until the afternoon on Sunday, ate something quick, and drove to the vicinity of the massage parlor. I found a relatively secluded spot in the parking lot and stared at the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of him when he came out for a smoke. I wanted to see clearly his憨憨 (simple-minded) yet not dull-witted expression and the robust body that had so easily brought me to climax last night. More than anything, I wanted to confirm that he was still there, or rather, that after last night, I hadn't caused him any trouble—at that moment, I felt like a criminal returning to a crime scene, desperately trying to make sure I hadn't left any trace. But after waiting for over two hours, he still hadn't come out. Then I remembered that I'd never smelled cigarette smoke on his large hands. I could only return home dejectedly, my heart pounding with anxiety.

The entire week had been utterly dull, but thankfully the weekend arrived as scheduled. I made a call, and unsurprisingly, my boss answered. Hearing her usual tone, my anxiety eased slightly. However, her first question was whether I wanted to schedule the time for nine o'clock. Ha! Did she think I was stupid? Did she think I'd become addicted? Such blatant probing wouldn't make this scheming woman give in! I didn't feign hesitation; instead, I told her firmly that working two hours at nine was a bit late, and suggested the evening instead. Sure enough, Uncle Xiong was available in the evening, and I succeeded. Although the call was short, it was quite strange, revealing a lot of information. At least I knew Uncle Xiong was alright, but my boss might have some suspicions.

When I saw Uncle Xiong again, I didn't read anything unusual on his face. He was still the same as always,憨憨地, 稳井平感 (a Chinese idiom meaning calm and collected). He led me to room number 2, a place both familiar and strange. After what happened last time, I felt that room number 2 held a different meaning for me; it had become a secluded paradise with our shared secrets.

"Then get ready first, I'll come in later." This was the routine opening line he always gave me after leading me into the room, but to me, it carried a different meaning.

"Get ready for what? Where are you coming in?" I retorted somewhat jokingly.

He didn't say anything, just pretended not to hear, and turned to leave. Suddenly, I felt very wronged; I couldn't understand this man anymore. In my script, his answer should have been simple and clear—"You, you," followed by stripping me naked and carrying me to the bed. But it wasn't like that at all; it seemed our relationship was still stuck in the nonchalant atmosphere of our first meeting. I stood there, stunned.

He returned shortly after, closing the door behind him. Seeing me standing there undressed, he looked somewhat surprised. The moment our eyes met, I acted impulsively and rushed over to hug him. He hesitated for a moment, then let me hug him. One minute, two minutes... I wished time could stand still so I could linger on his scent, that comforting smell—but everything eventually calmed down.

He sensed I wasn't as agitated anymore, so he gently patted my back and said slowly, "Sweetie, Uncle knows what you're thinking, but..."

"But you've already given me everything you could." I looked up, smiling, and gave him the answer—I finally regained the rationality I'd cast aside the moment I entered this room, smelled this scent, and saw this person. I finally remembered that this was a real world, a world governed by law, a world where the development and changes of things are not subject to individual will. And what I could want and what he could give was confined to this room, and I had already received it, and he had already given it to me.

Seeing the sincerity in my eyes, he didn't dwell on it any longer, and gave me a simple, honest smile. I didn't hesitate either, and right in front of him, I took off all my clothes and lay down on the bed—he'd seen everything he wanted to see, touched everything he wanted to touch, and now that things were clear, there was no need for pretense.

Regaining my senses, all I wanted to do was enjoy the comfort of his warm, large hands—after all, a two-hour massage isn't cheap. I fell asleep during it, again while Uncle Xiong was massaging my feet. But this time, I was truly asleep, sleeping soundly and relaxed. So, the two hours passed by without me realizing it. When Uncle Xiong woke me, I found myself covered with a sheet; he must have been worried I'd get cold. Uncle Xiong was still the same considerate man. He always managed to touch me with small gestures.

As I was leaving, on a whim, I asked him, "Uncle Xiong, do you smoke?"

He didn't answer directly, but instead patted my head and smiled, "You came last Sunday too, didn't you?"

Haha, the burly man before me suddenly seemed so unfathomable, so unapproachable. He was methodical, cautious, and neither arrogant nor servile. He saw right through me, this self-righteous, scheming woman.

I still go for my weekly massage every week because Uncle Xiong and I have finally found a balance: I only go to him for massages on Saturday evenings. He knows I'm fascinated by his muscular physique, so before each massage, he gives me a big bear hug, indulging me in the feeling of security and his masculinity. At the same time, I know he enjoys watching me wiggle my hips, letting the hot essential oil flow freely, then a slap with his paw, and I become obedient, letting him apply the oil all over my body. This is our little game, which we never tire of. However, even when I'm soaking wet and he's already fully erect, we won't cross the line—there are still many other customers in the shop in the evening, and we won't risk putting each other in an awkward situation by having customers go to the wrong room. This time is a constraint for everyone.

This subtle, playful game is irresistible, and I hope it can continue forever.

Time flies, summer has passed and autumn has arrived, but before the autumn leaves could fall to the ground, winter came. On a lazy yet expectant Saturday in early 2015, I received another call from my boss.

"Your Uncle Xiong asked me to ask you if the appointment could be changed to nine o'clock. He has something to do this afternoon, so he canceled all the other appointments. But he can come back to do it for you after he finishes his business," my boss assured me.

"He asked you to ask me?" I asked noncommittally.

"Yeah, see how much he favors you, he'll do it for you even though everyone else has canceled," my boss said somewhat jokingly.

"Oh, okay, since he said so," I replied expressionlessly, completely ignoring my boss's teasing.

After hanging up the phone, I couldn't hide my excitement, hugging the pillow I usually tucked under my body and spinning around three times. I looked at my watch, it was only 3:30. Hmm, my watch must be the slowest watch in the world.

I patiently waited until 9:15 before leisurely arriving at the shop. The boss called once to urge me to hurry up, and I just made up an excuse. I knew the later I arrived, the fewer people there would be. After paying, the boss was in a hurry to leave. Uncle Xiong wasn't wearing his uniform today, perhaps because he had just finished running errands and there were no other customers in the shop, so he didn't change. He was wearing a large black t-shirt, without any patterns, but it couldn't hide his strong and muscular body. He wore casual shorts and flip-flops. Because their shop requires all massage therapists to wear long pants, this was the first time I had seen Uncle Xiong's thick calves and thick leg hair, and I was momentarily dizzy. Although California isn't cold, wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops in winter is usually something only strong and healthy young men do.

"Uncle, aren't you cold?" I asked knowingly.

"No, it's cold in Northeast China."

"Oh. What did you do this afternoon?" I especially liked imitating his Northeastern accent.

"Stay home, tidy up, and recharge." I thought he was joking, but his expression was very serious.

After entering the room, he casually closed the door and suddenly picked me up from behind—a princess carry—catching me off guard. His large face lolled close, and he sniffed my hair deeply, saying, "Smells so good." I blushed and didn't say anything, only playfully punching his broad chest. He smiled sheepishly and put me down.

"So, what brings you here at this hour?" I went straight to the point.

He awkwardly tugged at his collar, saying, "Girl..." He stopped abruptly, calling me by my name. "Uncle just wanted you to know that I'm not a blockhead."

"Yes, I know—I know you know what I'm thinking." I stared into his eyes.

"Your aunt went back to visit relatives earlier, she's going to spend the New Year at her hometown." He seemed to be trying to change the subject.

"Yes, you said that before, and she's been back for over a month already." I persisted.

"I...I'm going back too," he said slowly.

I stared at his honest face, frozen in place for a long time, but ultimately couldn't bring myself to ask the foolish question, "When are you coming back?" He had deliberately chosen this time and place, wanting to tell me something, or perhaps to end something.

"Have you bought your plane ticket?" I asked, trying to make conversation to hide my dejection.

"Yes, the day after tomorrow," he replied firmly.

"What are you planning to do when you get back?" I hadn't expected such a sudden question.

"I've saved up some money over the years, I'm going to start a small business," he answered. "Your aunt and I aren't very good at English, and there's no point in staying here. While we can still give it our all, we'll go back and give him a good beating." He added,

"What about your son?" "

He'll graduate first."

"Oh." I didn't know how to continue the conversation, because I was already in tears.

Uncle Xiong paused for a moment, then pulled me into his arms. "Thank goodness I met you, you give me something to look forward to every week." He stroked my trembling back, then said gently, "Actually, I was originally going to go back with your aunt, but I couldn't bear to leave her."

Speechless, I could only continue to soak his warm chest with my tears. If today is the end, then I hope my tears can remain in his heart. I think this is what they call love growing over time.

He wiped away my tears and said gently but firmly, "Well, Uncle wants to give you everything today!"

"You finally want me?"

"Yes, I think about it every day, especially after you leave. Uncle has to go back and have sex with your aunt a few times, but my mind is full of you." This must be the most unpleasant yet most beautiful love confession I've ever heard in my life, so genuine.

"I've been yours for a long time." I mustered my courage and said softly. Yes, from the moment Uncle Xiong's hot hands first touched my body, I was burned and branded by him.

Hearing my words, he pulled me closer to his chest, and at the same time, his hardness pressed against my lower abdomen. I groaned, and a heat rose in my lower abdomen; I almost reached my climax from his thrusts. I raised my head, stroking his broad face, my eyes hazy with desire. He bent down slightly, lifted me up by my buttocks. I kissed his broad forehead, looked at his憨憨 (simple and honest) smiling face, and pressed my lips to his. I clung tightly to his waist, and his large hands kneaded my buttocks incessantly. Our tongues intertwined, demanding and vying for dominance. We swallowed each other's saliva greedily, as if it were the most delicious nectar in the world, not wanting to waste a single drop.

He lifted me and slowly walked to the bedside, then placed me on it. He looked down at me tenderly. In that instant, I saw that imposing Vajra Bodhisattva again. I looked up at this Vajra Bodhisattva who was about to convert me, and felt a sense of awe. As the saying goes, "Until hell is empty, I vow not to become a Buddha."

Finally, we could be completely honest with each other, and he finally stripped me naked with his own hands. I suddenly felt a little embarrassed, because I never turned over during massages, only my back, so this was the first time he had looked down at my bare breasts and flat stomach from the front. I pressed my legs together, curled my knees, and placed my feet on his hairy belly. The soft, fuzzy hairs tickled the soles of my feet, making my heart itch even more. He grabbed my feet with one hand, pulling my legs together and straightening them against his chest, embracing my long, slender calves, and then gently sucking on my toes again. At the same time, he leaned forward, his other hand applying essential oil slowly to my body, gently rubbing it in. Then he forced his already rock-hard penis between my wet legs, pressing it against my lower abdomen, throbbing rhythmically.

Hot, yet soothing.

I finally saw its true form. Wow, it's huge! A sudden worry gripped me; I feared my petite frame couldn't bear its full weight. That massive, purple crown seemed to triumphantly proclaim its long and storied history. At the top of the crown was a shimmering gem, as if formed from dew, only shining brightly when on the battlefield. A thick vein meandered down, finally disappearing into the dense undergrowth. With a sense of reverence, I slowly grasped it with both hands—it was so hot. Feeling its powerful pulse, I let out a long sigh, then pressed it firmly against my lower abdomen, wishing I could just embed myself into it. Perhaps encouraged, he wrapped his free hand around my thigh, pulling me closer to himself, leaving no gap between us, then slowly massaged my lower abdomen and the base of my thighs, even inadvertently pressing my lips together. I felt so comfortable I lost myself in the moment, a feeling of being in another world, my legs involuntarily twitching slightly.

Perhaps sensing my approaching climax, he roughly parted my legs, knelt down, and kissed me without warning. I was startled and instinctively tried to push him away. But his thick, curled tongue, once it touched me, began to swirl and grind. I could only weakly clutch his hair, moaning uncontrollably. Before reaching my peak, I vaguely remembered reading in a book that if a bear from Northeast China licked a person, half their face would be gone. But the tongue of this bear beneath me was so gentle and comforting, a flick and a hook sending me to my climax.

Uncle Bear's previously restless chest hair was now wet and obediently clung to his muscular chest. He wiped his mouth, looking at me mischievously. I knew what he wanted to ask. So I preemptively said, "So good!"

He nodded in satisfaction, knowingly asking, "Want more?"

"Yes, I want more!" At that moment, to hell with restraint, to hell with pride, I knew that if I didn't get my fill today, I would never have the chance again.

He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. I took the opportunity to hook my arms around his neck and wrap my arms around his waist, saying coquettishly, "Hold me."

"Mmm!" Then he lifted me with his right hand, pulled me into his arms, and whispered, "I'll take you somewhere."

He turned and opened the door, carrying me towards the staff break room—of course, the shop was already empty.

I clung to him, feeling his heat rising with each step, and greedily licked his earlobe. He seemed to enjoy this little trick, occasionally slapping my bottom hard in response.

The massage parlor owner was very considerate of his employees. The staff break room was furnished with large brown leather sofas. I wasn't sure if they were real leather, but they looked very comfortable. Uncle Xiong sat down with me in his arms, his hands around my waist, continuing to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I carefully lowered my body, sticking my bottom out, wiggling and squirming.

"Ready?" he asked softly.

I didn't speak, but bit my lip and nodded vigorously.

"It's all yours!" he said firmly.

I easily found its location by following the heat source, then held it and slowly pressed against it. It throbbed, as if eager to explore the secrets hidden in this deep abyss. I sank down, a piercing, burning fullness making my mind go blank, and my heart filled with it. I let out a soft moan, my voice trembling.

"Does it hurt?"

I nodded, then shook my head vigorously.

"It's not all the way in yet." He smiled mischievously. I suddenly felt it playfully swell a few times, as if trying to expand this narrow space, to squeeze to the deepest part, to pick the sweetest nectar. "After you left once, I did it with your aunt here."

Hearing this, I felt a mix of emotions, whether it was happiness or jealousy, I didn't know. So, in a fit of pique, I gritted my teeth and sank down hard. A feeling of being torn apart made me cry out. He paused, perhaps surprised by my wildness, and gently patted my back, saying softly, "Relax, today is all yours." I tried to adjust my breathing, swaying slightly from side to side, trying to find a more comfortable position. I slowly adapted to the hot, full sensation, which gradually transformed into a strange itching, and I became restless.

Uncle Xiong noticed my change and supported my waist, shifting his body downwards. With each inch he moved, I was penetrated deeper. Finally, he lay on the sofa, and my deepest flower was finally plucked. At that moment, I felt like Guanyin seated on a lotus throne, my jade hands forming mudras, chanting seductive music.

I held his belly with one hand and supported myself on his chest with the other, slowly lifting my buttocks to the highest point, then slowly sitting back down, repeating this. Each time I reached the bottom, he groaned softly. Seeing his ecstatic expression, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and unconsciously increased my speed until the sound of flowing water was incessant. He considerately supported my buttocks, making it easier for me to sit down and lift up. But I didn't want to save energy, because I knew I was a prisoner of desire, and I wanted to use all my strength to wear myself out of this prison.

Then, he brought me to the peak once again.

I collapsed onto him, my hands tightly wrapped around him, my body still consumed by the burning fullness. He gently stroked my hair, while deliberately thrusting harder, reminding me he wasn't quite done. I gave in again, whispering in his ear, "Fuck me."

He seemed like a soldier finally given the order to charge, sitting up, letting out a low growl, picking me up, and heading towards the initial battlefield—Room 2, the place where it all began and would end.

Back in Room 2, he slowly placed me on the bed.

The moment he withdrew, my heart felt empty, and my body involuntarily arched upwards, wanting to hold onto this feeling of fullness. But he was ultimately not a man I could control—not even a part of him.

"Lie down, squeeze me tight first," he commanded. I felt a daze, as if I were back on the day of our first intimate encounter. I rolled over in the most seductive and alluring way possible, lying face down on the bed, my buttocks sticking up. He considerately placed a sheet under my lower abdomen, then took the essential oil and poured it all over my plump buttocks. I squeezed my legs together, wiggling my buttocks, waiting for his favor. With a slap, his bear paw arrived as expected, burning with a comfortable sensation. Then came the feeling of my inner thighs being filled; he had already made me addicted to this feeling of being on the verge of collapse. He moved rhythmically, slowly but surely, each time grinding me until I gasped softly. When I reached my climax for the third time, offering my nectar, he didn't stop like the first time, but instead, unstoppable, broke through my trembling tightness and plunged in.

Thick, towering legs, a round, firm bottom, and a powerful body formed this tireless war machine. Its sole purpose was to send the owner of this delicate body to heaven once more. Pulling out, thrusting in all the way, then pulling out again, thrusting in all the way again, each time causing the petals to flip out and be pushed back in, while simultaneously squeezing the buttocks into various shapes, branding them with fiery handprints. Utter despair was my only feeling at that moment. I prayed, hoping to finally fly with him. Gradually, a beastly growl came from behind, then the beast increased the frequency of its thrusts, making a slapping sound. I felt it swell, greedily draining me with unparalleled pride, until I gave up resistance and offered up my last precious nectar. He was indeed a seasoned warrior; once he had won, he immediately withdrew. Then, with a low growl, he pressed his monstrous, already near-firearm, against my buttocks, rotating and grinding, finally gushing out in a leap.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven streams. My back was also marked with one, two, three, four, five, six, seven trails of lava flowing through it.

When emptiness overwhelmed me, I cried. Why, at the peak of passion, had I prepared to bear everything for him? Yet he remained rational and withdrew. I couldn't understand. I don't understand men, especially this calculating, cautious, and unassuming man. But I only know that I am a woman worthy of his efforts and the frequent climaxes he brought me to. I am content.

When we parted, he hugged me one last time. I knew it was the last time he would hug me. I didn't cry; instead, I smiled. I was happy because I knew this wasn't a dream, but a precious life experience. I wouldn't presume to say it was unforgettable, but at least I couldn't forget it. Even better, tomorrow, I would return to being that reserved, proud, and self-assured literary young woman, carrying this precious life experience etched in my heart, and moving forward with strength.

But as I opened the car door, ready to drive home, I heard his hurried footsteps.

For a moment, I thought of the ending of a soap opera. I thought this kind of dreamlike thing had happened to me—the male protagonist giving up everything for the female protagonist, rushing over to hug her, keeping her, and then living happily ever after.

As I turned around, my heart pounding but feigning calm, he stopped a meter away.

He still had that憨憨 (simple and honest) smile, scratching his head, and said apologetically, "Girl, well, you probably need to find a different place for your massage. I know a good one."

"Why?" I was a little shocked, but mostly curious.

"I went back home," he said.

"Hmm, just because you went back doesn't mean I can't come," I said noncommittally.

"The shop's lease expires next month, and the rent is going up," he continued.

"Hey Uncle Xiong, can you stop taking such long breaths? Just say what's on your mind!" I said, slightly annoyed, mimicking his accent.

"I just ravaged you, so I'm a little embarrassed to say it," he smiled sheepishly.

"Can you stop trying to outsmart me? Besides, I begged you to fuck me!" I was really angry now, and I didn't care anymore.

“Well, the boss didn’t want to do it all by herself, saying it was too tiring. So we decided not to continue renting it—anyway, she’d already made her money back.”

I was stunned, a little incredulous at my ears.

“So, you’re the boss too?” I asked, my eyes wide.

“Half a boss, I’m a partner with your aunt and her,” he explained.

It turns out, the woman I prejudicially called "boss" was only in charge of appointments and payments; no wonder everyone except Uncle Xiong called her manager. Uncle Xiong was afraid of losing me as a repeat customer, so he had "boss" recommend him to me. Uncle Xiong had intensively trained the massage therapists' techniques, which is why I felt his technique was similar to Aunt Dong's. Uncle Xiong knew the habits of all repeat customers and had already learned my preferences through Aunt Dong, which is why he so easily led me to room number 2. Uncle Xiong turned off the lights and closed the shop every day because it was his duty as a boss, and he always did it personally. Uncle Xiong had prepared a staff break room out of consideration for his employees, which is why he could have taken advantage of Aunt Dong there. Because Uncle Xiong was the boss, he wasn't worried about anyone daring to peek at me while he was giving me a massage, even if those people knew my filthy thoughts... and so on.

Recalling all this, I was speechless for a long time. I was utterly defeated—both psychologically and physically—and this man in front of me, I could never compare to him in my entire life. Our petty cleverness as so-called intellectuals can never surpass the great wisdom of the working people. They are forced by life, yet ultimately rise above it.

I feel that Uncle Xiong made me more complete.

So,

thank you, Uncle Xiong.

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